


The Edges of the Stars

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5992309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Two women stood on the cliff, looking down to the reddening of the water in the small harbour. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Edges of the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Wavesinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/gifts).



> Many thanks to Jaiden_S for the lovely and super quick beta.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Hyarnustar, S.A. 602**

Two women stood on the cliff, looking down to the reddening of the water in the small harbour. Below, the men laboured away, hacking and sawing at the gigantic beast of the sea, a magnificent humpback whale, of sleek and shiny skin, while the women carried away immense pails of blubber to be melted in cauldrons so big that a child of ten years of age could stand inside and not be seen. Sometimes there were gales of laughter, faintly heard above, where they stood. Sometimes they sang. The children ran under everyone's feet, mad with glee and excitement. After a long while, the taller of the two women hid her face in the other one's shoulder.

“I cannot stand it,” she said. Her hands were cold, not just from the rising wind or the long exposure to the elements.

Her lover did not move or acknowledged her words. Silmariën stood gazing down, her eyes slightly closed but not yet squinting. A warm tear ran from the corner of her eyes, but it was just from the biting wind. Lindissë released her hand and moved away leaving a coldness on her side, where she had leaned before. Silmariën did not look back to the path leading down the cliff to the village and to the comfort of Abrazimir's house, where they were guests. She needed to be alone.

But she was never alone. A young page, who must have crossed paths with Lindissë on his way up came to call her. She tried to ignore the poor boy, as he curtsied twice, then cleared his throat but there was no escaping and therefore, no point in making the creature wait any longer. She turned her face to him and nodded.

“My Lord Abrazimir says that supper is ready to serve.” The boy, who could not be older than seven, curtsied again, too quickly, almost as if he was a life-sized doll equipped with springs. Silmariën smiled and ran her fingertips over his cheek. He looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes, this child who should be down at the harbour with the others, but was here instead, unprepared and perhaps unwilling. She followed him down the path, wishing she had a coin to give him.

Once inside her room, she checked herself on the small silver mirror. Her hair was stiff from the salt spray, but there was no time to wash and dry it. Anyway, it looked better that way, with the waves more defined. She washed her face with water from the basin they had left for her and quickly slipped out of her simple linen dress into something she would wear at court. It was for the sake of the ladies of Abrazimir's house that she donned the richer fabrics each night, for they themselves wore their countryside finery every night in honour of their royal visitor.

As she smoothed the sea-green brocade of her skirt she wondered if later in the night there would be another quarrel with Lindissë about the frock, which she would say was for the sake of Elatan, Abrazimir's other guest, or the continuation of their discussion about the whale, to which there was no point because Lindissë, a woman who had seen a thousand lambs slaughtered for her father's table, could not rise above sentimentality and agree that a whale was precious food and fuel for the winter, for the villagers.

Dressed up, minimally clean and hungry, Silmariën left the room and walked down the stairs to the dining room. Abrazimir and his wife, Saptheth, waited their guests. Behind them, by the by window, Lindissë stood with her back to the door, speaking in hushed tones with Faniel, Abrazimir's youngest daughter. Elatan was not there yet, she noticed, but Abrazimir's two sons stood close to their chairs already, the eldest turning at her entrance to openly gaze at her. Faniel giggled at something Lindissë said, distracting her for a moment from the light exchange with Abrazimir and his wife.

“But where is Elatan?” she asked a mite too loud, as she followed them into the room.

It was ugly, the flare of jealousy she had felt at the obvious delight Faniel took in Lindissë's company, which was most certainly completely innocent, and it was uglier her own response, she thought, as her little inquiry took immediate effect, erasing Lindissë's smile from her face. She barely comprehended Saptheth's fussy explanation for Elatan's absence as the party sat down. She watched her lover, opposite her, casting her eyes down to her plate, the corners of her lips down-turned, a grey cloud of sadness to come looming over her.

Abrazimir's youngest tried to engage Lindisse in a more private conversation, as dinner progressed, but with wavering success. Silmarien made a fierce effort to concentrate on the more general talk and she managed to navigate the laden conversation on taxes and possible matches for her and her sister, and even the thorny matter of her Aunt Mairen, who no one ever spoke about except Abrazimir, who was her friend from older days. The conversation bore a little repetition from previous evenings. Abrazimir, a lively, intelligent man when out and showing her his land, turned into a somewhat amusing but endearing caricature of himself at the dining table, as if he had suddenly remembered she was Tar-Elendil's daughter and not just that guest who spent their days posing many questions and examining everything he showed her with keen interest.

By dessert, she was exhausted but Lindissë's mood had finally lifted. After dinner, they moved to the family room and Faniel played her lute as her brothers sang, holding each other by the waist. They were fine, the three of them, fair of face, slender but strong, with enough higher blood, well-bread and surprisingly well-read. Either of the two brothers would be a good match for either her or for Lindissë and the girl was a delight, a fine law-sister for any woman to have. Of course that was not why she had come to Hyarnustar, but in truth, she dared touch the subject again for a while, after the explosion from a few months back when, in her room in Armenelos, she had suggested it was time they found husbands and Lindissë had all but threatened to kill herself.

The evening was lively, but they retired soon. Silmariën quite enjoyed the rhythms of the countryside, the early dinners, the early mornings. It was a sharp contrast to her life in Armenelos, to be woken each morning not by a tray with warm food, when the sun was mid-sky, but by the singing of a maid hanging clothes in the line just below her window by sunrise. She did not read much after dinner, although Saptheth supplied her with plenty of candles. And she did like the sea, although her home had always been inland. She could come to love Hyarnustar, she thought, as they all climbed the stairs, bidding each other goodnight with profuse wishes for pleasant dreams. The parents lavished endearments on their adult children, and, now that Silmariën and Lindissë had been staying with them for two weeks, they were more and more frequently included in the demonstrations, as if Abrazimir and his wife temporarily forgot she was the king's daughter. Silmariën received Saptheth's kisses on her cheek with a mix of amusement and ever-growing fondness. A touch of melancholy made her wistful as she entered the room she shared with Lindissë. Her mission here was complete and soon they would be leaving for another province. Elatan's.

As Lindissë closed the door, she turned to her and said, “How about making a little detour and spending few days in Hyarastorni? Do you not miss your home? I miss lying on the grass, warming in the sun with you by my side...”

Lindissë chuckled. “That is hardly a 'little detour'.”

Silmariën placed herself behind Lindissë and started undoing the buttons down her back. She placed a little kiss on the nape of her neck, smiling as Lindissë wiggled, ticklish as ever. They would not do anything tonight but talk, like two sisters, for fear of being heard, but the simple touching felt good, warm and relaxing and a little sad too, since of late, that was the only time they seemed to be at peace. It was fortunate that so many country houses were still small, with few rooms to spare. When they had visited Hyarrostar they had seen a few ancestral homes being torn down with renovations and amplifications, especially in the lands closer to Rómenna. They had stayed in places with separate rooms for the both of them, which was not as pleasing to them as their hosts might have hoped. In houses like Abrazimir's, they made a point of not allowing their hosts to evict their own daughters from their rooms, taking the only spare room for themselves.

Lindissë started undoing her own hair, letting Silmariën to untie her dress alone. “You are a terrible handmaiden, dearest,” Silmariën teased, slipping out of the thick shell of green silk.

“I know,” Lindissë quipped.

Silmariën wanted to tell her that she was sorry about her earlier remark about Elatan's absence, but she held the words. They would probably just make things worse. She quickly undid her hair and slipped into bed. Lindissë was still by the dressing table, dabbing her face with rose water and massaging her hands with a fragrant lotion that her brother, Ardamir, had bought her from an old woman in the edges of Nisidalmar. Silmariën held an amused smile as she wondered if the fragrance was fixated with ambergris. Better not mention the whale either.

“Good night, cousin,” she said as Lindissë finally slipped into bed by her side.

“Good night.” Lindissë deposited a silent peck on her lips before snuffing out the candle.

'Good, a peaceful evening,' Silmariën thought as she nestled behind Lindissë, spooning around her warm body. Their breathing quieted as they listened to the sounds of the house: an owl called from the roof above their room; one of the dogs yawned loudly, just outside, on the corridor; the wood creaked twice or thrice; and from afar, the sea rolled, its whisper carried and amplified by the rising wind. Silmariën was half asleep when Lindissë spoke.

“So when will we be done?” she asked.

Silmariën's heart jolted. “Soon, my love,” she said evenly. “Go to sleep.”

“I cannot, for the life of me, understand why your father would send you in this mission,” Lindissë said. “Írimon is or rather, will be, the heir to the throne, let him set his affairs straight.”

Silmariën contained a yawn. “You know it is not that simple.” Another yawn assaulted her. “Please, love, let us sleep. We have been through this before.”

Her father, Tar-Elendil, for all his love for books did not ignore what went on outside the walls of his library. There were whispers in court about anything and everything, as it is only natural, but her brother's self-imposed isolation had caused a stir, many years ago. Now, his alliance with Vëantur and his courtship of his daughter gave the idle more reason to worry. Marriage is serious business, when one of the spouses is, for certain, the one who is going to hold the sceptre of the country.

So, while it was well-known to them what the courtesans thought of Írimon's interest in the gentle Almarian, of lower birth, but with enough noble blood, and of the alliance with her father, a mariner, albeit a very wealthy one, of an old family, Tar-Elendil would not rest until he knew for certain what the rest of the country thought and what would be the implications in terms of the ever-shifting alliances. His son was a free man, free to marry whom he chose, but it was important to find out if there was going to be a price for his decisions, either in Elendil's lifetime or later on, during Írimon's reign.

For, despite Tar-Elendil's reluctance in naming Írimon Heir of the Sceptre, Silmariën held no doubts that that would be her father's final decision. She had experience, stamina, willingness, intelligence, and the right of birth, but she was never allowed to forget that she was a woman and therefore barred from the Sceptre. 'Laws can be changed,' she had once told her father. He had acquiesced with a nod but the matter had soon died. Succession held little importance when there was an able male heir, even if he held not much enthusiasm for the task. Right in the middle of reform of property law that had profound impact on the agrarian systems, the fiscal revenue and the inheritance law, Tar-Elendil had chosen to apply his power of persuasion and the leverage of his alliances to what he saw as his life's work.

“I do not want to go to Andustar,” Lindissë said with finality, interrupting her rambling thoughts.

Silmariën bit her tongue. She knew what Lindissë would say next.

“I do not want to be witness to the shameless courtship Elatan pays you. Why is he everywhere we go?”

Despite her sleepiness, Silmariën sat up and searched for the flint and the candle on the bedside table. The fumbling gestures allowed her to pause for enough time. Lindissë had a way of penetrating her defences… everything was immediate and intense, anger, joy, love… Try as she must, Silmariën could not brush away Lindissë's words, as she did with most people.

“Shall I return home and tell my father that I did not complete his request?” Silmariën asked, sternly looking at Lindissë, who remained curled on herself, with her back to her. She knew her voice was strained, not neutral as she intended.

“You can go without me. I will go to my father's home instead.”

“Lindissë, Elatan is not paying me court and certainly not in a shameless manner. And Andustar is big. His house might be one of the most prominent but-”

“Spare me, Silmariën.” Lindissë sat up and turned her face to the feeble light. “You lie so finely you do not even know you are doing it. You tell your father 'yes, Papa, I will go and see what they think of Írimon's sweetheart, but you are smiling to yourself every time someone even hints you would be the better ruler. You invite yourself to every home under the pretext of a holiday, when you know you are not her to make friends but to gauge people. You let everyone know that you are searching for a husband for yourself, but you tell me that you are looking for one for Isilmë. I think you are being more truthful when you are lying than whenever else.”

Lindissë stopped for breath. Silmariën knew she should stop herself but she could not. “I am not lying, just because I chose not to tell the whole truth to everyone. What kind of a simpleton would you have me be? And you know very well that I am searching for someone for Isilmë, before she falls prey to someone of less scruples. It was your idea, in fact!”

“Not quite, do not dare put words in my mouth,” Lindissë said. Realizing their voices had slowly been raised, she returned to a whisper. “I merely said it would be a good thing for her, not for you to take matters into your own hands.”

Silmariën inhaled deeply. Isilmë was her priority, no matter what Lindissë said. “Not all of us had the privilege of being raised by the Lady Ivriniel,” she slowly said, thinking of her beloved aunt by marriage. Her mother had been a harsh, demanding woman, very much unlike Lindissë's. But whereas Silmariën had turned tough as stone, and Meneldur had retreated to the library and later to Sorontil, Isilmë had been at loss of what to do with herself.

Silmariën had tried to shelter her from the constant criticism, but Isilmë swallowed every bitter word. She had become a mousy thing, unsure of herself, afraid of her own shadow, blind to her many, many wonderful traits but keenly aware of her slightest flaws. From adolescent clumsiness, Isilmë’s insecurity had grown into a barely contained anxiety that often lead her to avoid society, a difficult feat for the king's daughter.

“I know Isilmë is fragile,” Lindissë conceded, “but have you ever thought that she… might be like us? Or, more likely, that she does not really like men or women.”

“Isilmë knows nothing of the world,” Silmariën said. “She only needs someone to love her, someone kind but with both feet on the ground. Abrazimir's youngest, perhaps...”

“He is a fine man, but you cannot fabricate that for her, much as you would like,” Lindissë replied, resignedly.

Silmariën reclined on the pillows, thankful that the fight had deflated early.

“I do not wish to marry Elatan,” she said. 'Yet,' echoed in her mind. She forced herself to courage. “Yet,” she whispered.

Lindissë buried her face on her hands. “So, you have decided.”

“Not quite.” Silmariën tried pulling Lindissë into her arms but her cousin resisted the gesture.

“Lindissë, beloved. We have talked before of this. Two women… we see that in the houses of the poor, now and then. It goes not unnoticed but tolerated, within the boundaries of discretion. But us… it would never pass. Even now, you know there are tart remarks about the closeness of our friendship and all that keeps us above suspicion is our blood ties.”

“We could follow Aunt Mairen's path,” Lindissë proposed.

“It is not for me,” Silmariën cut. “Nor does it lend the freedom you think it does.”

Lindissë shook her head. “So we will not join the Sisters of Mercy. What shall we do then, love?” she asked, placing bitter emphasis on the last word. “Hide away in one of Vëantur's ships and sail away? Or shall I be your little secret while you live another life with some man? Or shall I just be discarded? Because a queen cannot have dirty secrets.”

Silmariën took Lindissë's hand in hers, despite her cousin's resistance. “Do you think I speak of marriage lightly? Do you think it does not pain me, the thought of you with someone else? With no time for me, laden with children? With no love in your heart left?”

“I wish we had never kissed, that time in Níndamos,” Lindissë, her voice thick with unshed tears.

“Do not say that.” Silmariën knelt on the bed and placed her arms around the hard shoulders. “Do not say that,” she repeated, kissing her cousin's hair. “I have never been happier than on that day.” Her eyes stung, remembering the shock she had felt when her young cousin had been brazen enough to kiss her on the mouth, as they bathed in the river.

“'Just like Cousin Yaviën's song,' you said,” Silmariën reminisced, earning herself a hint of a smile from Lindissë.

“The one we were not supposed to know about,” Lindissë concurred.

The lovers touched their foreheads and, after a moment, kissed lightly.

“Shall we not talk any more tonight, beloved,” Silmariën suggested.

Lindissë hesitated. “Shall we not finish this? I cannot stand this impeding horror. Will we terminate this tonight? Then you can be free. If you chose well your husband, you could still be queen, you know that.”

The tears that had stung Silmariën's eyes before now spilled. “I cannot part with you now, not yet.”

Lindissë kissed her tears. “But you know you must, some day, as do I. Look at us,” she said with a semblance of a chuckle. “The heated romantic convincing the cold pragmatist to end the affair, against her own will.”

“Against mine, too,” Silmariën said, inelegantly snorting her tears.

Lindissë kissed her face. “If you really want to be queen you have to move fast. You have made a good choice. Elatan is young but he holds Andustar fast in his hand. He would be a formidable husband for you.”

“No, Lindissë,” Silmariën replied, sobering. “I would not give you up for that. Moreover, I shall never be queen, not even with a strong husband as an ally. People might say they would rather have me, but those are just words that would require more time and wealth than I have to turn around the law, without the help of the king, and you know that my father has made up his mind. If he had sired only women things might be different, but he will not fight for me.”

Lindissë shook her head. “I cannot speak ill of my king and cousin, but there might be some foolishness in there...”

Silmariën chuckled. “Sweet, loyal Lindissë,” she said, cupping her cousin's cheek in her hand. “The truth is that my brother, no matter how uninterested he might be now, will be a kind ruler, and a competent one. I will not plot against him.”

Lindissë smiled. “I am sorry that I called you a liar. I know things are complicated.”

Silmariën nodded. “And I am sorry that I cannot believe in the possibility of a long, happy life together. The world will never let it. We have been too fortunate so far. Sometimes I wonder when the punishment will fall.”

“So what do we do?” Lindissë asked.

“We stick together, for as long as we can. We find Isilmë a kind husband. I stay away from Elatan and you stop making Faniel giggle in that adorable way.” Silmariën smiled. “And one day we come to terms with our fate and do what must be done. But for now, we sleep.”

“I do not think I can, not right now.”

“I do not think I can either, but let us try.”

Silmariën snuffed the candle and both women lay down, melding with each other in the warmth of their shared bed. Lindissë fidgeted for a while, as she often did, but Silmariën forced herself to remain absolutely still. Lindissë had been right about her. She had grown unable to tell the whole truth. Because, as much as she wanted to ignore it, she saw more in Elatan than someone who came to marriage for a successful partnership. There was something in the way his eyes locked with hers, the rough edges just beneath the surface, the very physical form of him, too lean, too sharp, the eyes of inscrutable grey, the mouth ironic. But she would not confess to Lindissë just how much that man stirred her. Love it was not, at least not yet, just a hunger that she had not known she had still. Love was Lindissë, with her unwavering support, her kind laughter, her idealism. And she would not hurt love more than she had to.

_Finis  
February 2016_

**Author's Note:**

> Lindissë and Tar-Elendil are first cousins once removed. Where I live, it is usual for the younger person in such a relationship to call the older uncle or aunt, which is sweet, I think, but I did not want to introduce an element of confusion in the story so Lindissë refers to him only as 'cousin'.
> 
> The mentioned [song of Yaviën](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363892) belongs to Himring.
> 
> The “Sisters of Mercy” is something I am developing in a fic to e published. Nothing canonical at all, of course.
> 
> OC names from [Real Elvish.net](http://realelvish.net/)


End file.
